


You'd Say I'm Sorry

by swampslip



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward Crush, Dirty Talk, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Kinda, M/M, Masturbation, Mentor/Protégé, Mild Injury, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Power Imbalance, Pre-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Tenderness, Touch-Starved, hesitance, john to dutch at first, set in a time when dutch isn't as big of a fuckin cunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swampslip/pseuds/swampslip
Summary: "I don't… It's pretty vague," John croaks, "S'just a bunch of fear and feelin' like I'm outta control.""... Like you can't controlyourself?"Dutch asks slowly, propping his chin on his fist, elbow leaning on his knee, looking up at John."Kinda- Been feelin' that lots lately, like I'm… Emotional.""You're young," Dutch says and he sounds ever so slightly amused, "And I'd say you might calm down, but I also think you're quite like me.""But you're calm?""No, John, I really ain't."
Relationships: John Marston/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> overt young gay unrequited crush on an older guy heyo   
> title ref to not in that way by sam smith because honestly their songs just hit for this john's roughly 21? here?
> 
> idk i get kinda annoyed with people making dutch out to be either way better or way worse than he is so i wanted something for them that isn't either rape or like... boyfriends, it's complicated and the dynamics and imbalances all need to be addressed and im TRYING dhbfdjbh

It’s a bit outside of his control. 

There was never quite a clear line of where he stood with Dutch, just that he was safe, now, fed, clothed, no fear of being beaten or hung again. 

He had the force of a gang at his back, holding him up. 

As a young man he’s less clear, where he stands. 

He’s a good shot, Hell, _a great shot,_ Dutch has said that himself, a good hand to have around, a good… Son. 

Brother. Kid. Boy. Johnny. Bait. 

Any number of things or names Dutch has called him over the years. 

But Dutch is just like that, and John’s learned that he can be called something and then the exact opposite or simply two contradictory things and it doesn’t mean _shit_. 

For all Dutch cares about literacy and learnedness, he just uses words how they suit him, wields them, no different than a pistol or a knife. 

So when Dutch is proud of him and a little drunk, a little happy and he laughs loud and rich and he claps John on the back and calls him ‘Darling’-

He doesn’t know what to do with it. 

There are compliments and teasing on either side of _that_ but it echoes, drowns out anything else. 

And it’s still echoing, five days later as he’s sitting at the fire, quiet, observing. 

Just listening to all these older men and women talk over his head, literally and figuratively and he’s been intertwined with these people for almost a decade, tangled up in their wants and wishes and _plans_ and it’s confusing him, now. 

As he watches Dutch, while Dutch talks to Hosea and Grimshaw and Arthur and not John. 

He feels a kind of twisting, pulsing warmth in his gut and he’s not sure how to name it, precisely. 

It feels like losing a hunt to Arthur, it feels like the touches of working girls on his neck and thighs when they realize he’s a smaller, quieter thing. 

It feels like being green and being guided and he… Doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“John?” Dutch asks and John blinks, realizes he was staring and that everyone is focused on him, “You hear me?”

“... No,” John says quietly, lowers his legs and sits up, “What’d I do?”

Dutch’s head cocks curiously and his dark brows are furrowed, the little lines in his face more pronounced. 

“Hosea said you’ve been practicing your skills with longarms,” Dutch says slowly and carefully and a bit like John’s stupid, and John feels his face flushing, “I asked how it’s going.”

“S’goin’ fine,” John said and fidgets with his hair so it covers his burning ears, “Pretty close to hittin’ every can.”

Dutch hums and sounds pleased while Arthur scoffs behind him and John doesn’t feel like arguing over it, their stupid little competitive streak, and he doesn’t feel like lingering on how he feels right now about that hum. 

So he slowly stands. 

“Think I’m turnin’ in,” John mutters and starts to turn away. 

Dutch’s hand on his arm stops him and the older man stands as well, frowning down at him. 

“You feeling alright, boy?” Dutch asks as conversation slowly resumes around the fire and John can’t meet the older man’s eyes. 

He’s so close to being Dutch’s height but he’s not sure he’ll ever break even. 

Dutch’s fingers are warm around John’s forearm and they wrap around completely, and John feels _want_. 

He swallows weakly and nods jerkily and moves to pull back and he glances up just to see _concern_ in Dutch’s eyes and he wonders if the fear is showing in his own. 

“Just tired,” John says shortly. 

“Go rest, then,” Dutch says and pats his arm before letting go, “Need my best marksmen well-rested.”

\--

“Fuck,” John whispers and stares wildly at himself in the shaving mirror, “What the fuck?”

He’s hard and he has been since Dutch let him go and he doesn’t-

He hadn’t considered this, before, _fellas_ , before. 

Dutch… Before. 

Ever, actually, and it’s rolling like nausea in him and he’s _scared_. 

John shoves away from the little desk and lays down on his bedroll and stares at the canvas flaps that create the entrance of his tent. 

\--

He dreams of hot palms and cold rings and dark eyes and soft curls and he wakes up trembling in terror and _want_.

John presses his lips together and stares up at the top of his tent, moving one hand down, slowly, nervously. 

It’s earlier in the morning than he usually wakes, he can tell by the dim, cool light of dawn that leaves the interior of his tent looking blue and cold. 

Just his fingers grazing his cock through his drawers has him exhaling shakily and curling up on himself, turning onto his side and watching under the tent flaps vigilantly. 

Dutch is probably awake, now, the older man never sleeps in. 

John brings his other hand up to muffle himself and he shouldn’t be doing this, indulging this line of thinking. 

This feels like a betrayal, and it feels like it’s not worth it-

If Dutch finds out, gets angry, disgusted, kicks him out…

John’s fingers squeeze his cock once then he brings that hand up as well and covers his whole face. 

Brows drawing together and eyes burning. 

\--

Dutch is awake, and looks up when John comes out, a few minutes after he manages to calm himself down. 

So he slowly joins the older man, fills a cup of coffee for himself. 

And Dutch is quiet for a while, doesn’t greet him, lets the air sit still between him. 

“‘Just tired’, yet you’re hardly sleeping,” Dutch says lowly, reading from some book or another, “Not exactly _rested_.”

“Had a nightmare,” John says and it’s not _entirely_ a lie, if he’s honest, it did scare him, and ain’t that what makes a nightmare?

“Hm,” Dutch lifts his gaze to study him and John tries not to seem so anxious or tense. 

“Sorry," John says instinctively because Dutch is upset with him and that usually means he's done something wrong and-

"John," Dutch says quietly, softer, "Calm down, my boy, you're not in trouble."

"Well n' grown," John mutters bitterly, "Shouldn't be havin' nightmares."

"... I don't know who gave you the impression that when you grew up they'd simply-" Dutch falters, gestures loosely with one hand, wiggling his fingers, "Disappear, but I'd hope it wasn't me."

John's quiet for a long moment, trying to pull all his words and teaching into something useful. 

"Do you get ‘em?" He ends up asked hoarsely and his voice is so thick, lately-

Hosea said something about that rope so many years ago, maybe messing with his throat-

"I do."

"Oh."

"Most everyone does, John," Dutch says quietly and he leans over his legs to duck into John's space, setting his hand on John's knee and squeezing, "There's no shame in it."

There's a lot of shame, John thinks, staring at the rings in the pale morning light and he can't feel the metal through the denim of his pants but he kinda-

John cuts that train of thought viciously in half and nods. 

Dutch's hand slowly pulls back. 

"Is it something you want to talk about?"

"No," John whispers and he hears the disappointment when Dutch hums quietly, "I- It's not-"

"You don't have to," Dutch says, stretching out his legs and crossing the heavy boots at his ankles, "But talking, it helps, sometimes."

\--

The same nightmare, for the second night in a row. 

And he stumbles out of his tent to the dying campfire and sits on the ground in his drawers and hugs his legs for minutes-

Hours-

He's not sure. 

"John?" 

And John looks up to see Dutch frowning, face cast in warm candlelight and John realizes the embers have completely died out and he's… 

He's fucking freezing. 

"Yeah?" John asks shakily and Dutch's brows furrow in concern and his hand reaches down and grabs John's upper arm, hauling the younger man up to his feet. 

"Good grief, boy," Dutch hisses and his free hand rubs down John's arm, "You're half-frozen." 

John feels a little hazy, can't think of even the slightest reasonable explanation. 

"What is wrong with you?" Dutch mutters and the backs of his fingers shove away John's hair and feel his forehead. 

"Nightmare," John whispers and he kinda feels like he could cry. 

Dutch's hand lowers from his face and the older man moves the candle closer to John's face. 

And John doesn't protest, quietly stands, lightly shaking, avoiding Dutch's eyes. 

"C'mon," Dutch mutters and wraps his fingers around John's bony shoulder and John follows easily. 

Starts to mildly panic when he's guided into Dutch's tent, towards the older man's bed. 

A blanket is draped around him and he burrows into it immediately, hugging himself and pressing his face into the wool that smells like rich, floral cigar smoke and something dark, spicy. 

"Foolish of you," Dutch mutters as he moves around behind John, "Sitting out there near-naked." 

"I'm fine."

Dutch snorts softly and a glass is pushed under his face. 

It's whisky, he knows it's whisky, Dutch never shares his whisky.

"Drink, John," Dutch mutters, "Warm you up." 

"... S'harder to wake up," John whispers, "If I've been drinkin'."

"Hm?" Dutch frowns at him and presses the cool glass to John's cheek, trying to bait the younger man, "You'll be fine."

John takes the glass slowly and sips, grimacing. 

"Good boy," Dutch murmurs and sighs and drags a crate over to sit in front of John, "Will you talk about it, now?" 

"I don't… It's pretty vague," John croaks, "S'just a bunch of fear and feelin' like I'm outta control."

"... Like you can't control _yourself_?" Dutch asks slowly, propping his chin on his fist, elbow leaning on his knee, looking up at John.

"Kinda- Been feelin' that lots lately, like I'm… Emotional."

"You're young," Dutch says and he sounds ever so slightly amused, "And I'd say you might calm down, but I also think you're quite like me."

"But you're calm?"

"No, John, I really ain't."

"You seem calm."

"And you'll learn how to do that," Dutch says, low, like it's a secret he's bestowing upon John, "Drink."

John looks at Dutch for a minute then tosses back the finger of whisky with a small cough. 

Dutch laughs, soft and rich, and takes the glass from John. 

"Attaboy," Dutch murmurs and moves away, stashing the glass. 

John hugs the blanket tighter to himself and resists the temptation to lay down in _Dutch's_ bed. 

"Anything else you remember?" Dutch asks and he swings back onto the crate, settling his hands on John's knees again, squeezing, "I don't know why they'd get so much worse when… And I'm not saying this to tease you, John, I promise, but not much has happened lately…"

"I know," John whispers "S'odd."

"... Arthur still let you sleep with him?" Dutch asks slowly. 

"What?" John blinks tiredly at Dutch and shakes his head, "No, not in a while"

"Hm."

"... Why?"

"I remember that used to help you, even just two or so years past…" Dutch squeezes his knees again then sits back, "You could sleep here."

"Ain't that- Ain't that real strange?" John asks hoarsely. 

"I doubt I'll make it back to sleep, tonight," Dutch murmurs and rubs at his face lightly, "You know you… You're _safe_ , with me, John, I made that promise and I _meant_ it."

"You've kept it."

"... I'm glad you think so," Dutch stands, gesturing at the bed, "Lay down, if you'd like." 

And John stares for a minute then flops back, hugging the older man’s blanket to himself tightly. 

Dutch studies him for a moment with a soft look then moves to sit at his makeshift desk, opening a book and grabbing a pen. 

John falls asleep to the sound of turning pages and a silver nib scraping on paper. 

\--

“John,” Dutch whispers near his ear and John hazily blinks open his eyes to look up at the older man, “Hey, s’almost sunrise, I wanna lay down for a bit so if you wanna go back-”

John shuffles back on the cot so that the majority of it is free, balanced on the edge and looking at Dutch tiredly. 

Dutch stares at the open space on the bed then at John’s half-lidded eyes, barely open enough to see. 

“Or that, I suppose,” Dutch mumbles then stands, moving away for a moment and kicking off his boots and pulling off some of his bulkier belts and his vest, coming back and carefully climbing onto the bed. 

John closes his eyes again and lifts the blanket that’s wrapped around him. 

Dutch huffs a soft laugh and takes the offered blanket, turning on his side towards John. 

This doesn’t feel much different than sharing with Arthur, besides the low, thrumming heat in his gut. 

The secret he’s holding close. 

\--

When John wakes up again his face is pressed into a warm chest and there’s an arm around his waist. 

He makes a quiet, pleased noise and shifts closer, pressing his hips to the thigh in front of him, letting out another, weaker sound. 

“John,” Dutch says quietly above him and John tenses, violently pulling back only to tumble off the side of the cot. 

There’s a long moment of silence then Dutch’s gentle, deep laughter as the older man sits up and looks over the edge at John. 

John’s flat on his back, knees drawn up, staring up at the older man, dumbfounded. 

“Uh- I-” John says thickly and feels that guilt and terror and shame seeping into him, “Sorry.”

“C’mon,” Dutch murmurs, “Get on up and go get dressed, s’almost light out.”

“I didn’t mean-” 

“I know, my boy, now go, unless you want to get caught coming out of my tent in just your drawers,” Dutch says wryly, watching John with a bit of amusement in his eyes as the younger struggles up onto his feet and beelines out of the tent. 

Dutch lays back on his cot for a moment, brows furrowing as he rubs the side of his finger over his mouth, a bit unsettled. 

\--

The nightmares only seem to get worse, since he woke up in Dutch’s arms and had a fleeting moment, just a taste of what being _with_ Dutch might feel like. 

He wants to go sit out by the fire when he wakes up crying and scared. 

He wants to go lay in Dutch’s bed, again, be surrounded by that safety and warmth. 

Sometimes he wonders what Dutch means when he promises that John’s safe, that he won’t be ‘hurt’ here. 

Sometimes he wonders if he and Dutch have different ideas of what ‘hurting’ him is. 

\--

About a week later he gets too frustrated to stay in his tent any longer, too worked up after endless nights of waking up hard and doing nothing about it because of the guilt. 

He tugs on a union suit and boots before grabbing his coat, at least having the mind to not freeze himself again as he ducks out of his tent and revives one of the fires. 

Sitting down on a blanket that’s lingering, a bit rumpled and tattered and John just sits. 

Staring at the flames. 

He runs the tip of his tongue of the cutting edge of his teeth and shifts the coat around himself, slipping his hand between his thighs and squeezing his half-hard cock through his union suit, biting his lower lip. 

It feels so good, as on edge as he is, as worked up as he’s been, even just the light playing with himself through the fabric has his cock aching, hardening further. 

“Fuck,” John whispers and curls in on himself just a bit, glancing around at all the dark tents only to realize they’re no longer _all_ dark. 

Dutch’s tent is lit from the corner, a lantern glowing through the canvas. 

John pulls his hand away from his cock quickly, sitting up. 

The flap to the tent opens and Dutch frowns at him, knowing, gestures him inside. 

John shakily gets to his feet and walks closer, slipping past Dutch into the tent. 

He’s guided to the cot, urged to sit down, then Dutch pulls up that crate to sit in front of John. 

“John,” Dutch starts, soft and soothing, “What’s going on with you?”

He’s never been good at lying, especially to Dutch. 

“Been feelin’ strange,” John says quietly, not meeting the older man’s eyes, “Thinkin’ strange.”

“Those nightmares?”

“Yeah… They ain’t really nightmares, more just… Dreams, but I feel bad about them when I wake up.”

“Feel bad about them?” Dutch settles his hand tenderly on John’s knee and squeezes softly, “Why?”

“It’s you,” John whispers hoarsely, “You… You touchin’ me, and fuckin’ me and-”

“John,” Dutch says seriously, “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, especially not-”

“It don’t hurt,” John whispers.

Dutch is quiet for a long moment and John starts to worry, staring at the older man’s hand, stiff on his knee. 

“Doesn’t,” Dutch says quietly. 

“What?”

“It ‘doesn’t’ hurt,” Dutch mumbles and slowly sits back, pulling his hand back with him. 

“I… Yeah, it doesn’t hurt,” John whispers, “Feels good but I don’t- I can’t make ‘em stop and I don’t want you to _hate_ me so I’m not- I’m just-”

“... You’re torturing yourself,” Dutch says quietly, “Over this, feeling guilty.”

“... Yeah.”

Dutch pulls his lower lip into his mouth and worries it while John stares at their boots. 

His are scuffed and dusty and a little small and Dutch’s are perfectly polished. 

“Why don’t you lay down, my boy,” Dutch whispers and stands, briefly cupping John’s shoulder. 

"What?" John whispers back, craning his neck to look up at Dutch, "You want me to stay here?" 

"I'd like you to get some rest."

"But I… You ain't mad?"

"Aren't."

"I- Dutch, c'mon," John whispers, "Knock it off with the grammar lessons."

Dutch huffs quietly and hesitates, frowning at seemingly nothing past John's shoulder. 

"Just lay down, alright?" Dutch mutters, "Scoot." 

John makes a shaky sound but kicks off his boots and shuffles back, laying on the edge like he did the other night. 

Dutch lays down in the empty space and John can smell the whisky on the older man's breath now. 

"Not good for you," Dutch murmurs, eyes flicking over John's face, "Keeping this in."

"I thought you'd be mad," John says hoarsely, "Thought you'd be disgusted."

"... I told you, you're safe," Dutch says quietly, "... You shouldn't punish yourself over something you can't control." 

And the older man's hand settles carefully on John's waist. 

"You're safe, with me, John, you understand what I'm sayin'?" Dutch murmurs and squeezes John's waist, voice a little thicker. 

John stares at the older man then ducks his head. 

"You're safe, here," Dutch whispers and his thumb presses into the side of John's belly, "If you want…"

John nods weakly and closes his eyes tightly. 

"Shh, darling boy, you're just fine," Dutch's whisky and smoke starts to make him feel a little dizzy, as he tentatively moves his hand down between them, cupping his hardness through the thin knit of his union suit and it's hardly waned, "There you go."

John makes a shaky sound and squeezes himself through the fabric, slowly shifting and pressing his face into Dutch's upper arm where it's slung above his head. 

"There you go," Dutch repeats, "All worked up, aren't you?" 

"Dutch," John whispers, "Ah- I'm- I…" 

"Yeah, you are, John, hm?" Dutch squeezes his waist and moves down to hold John's hip, "What are these dreams you're having? What are we doing?"

"You're… You're teasin' me," John says hoarsely and rubs his palm down the length of his cock, "Callin' me nice things like you do sometimes… Touchin' me but not lettin' me touch you."

"Mm, what nice things?"

"... Callin' me 'darlin'," John whispers, "Callin' me yours." 

"You are my boy," Dutch mutters, "My lovely young man." 

"Is it-?" John's voice cracks when he grips himself, pre-come dampening the fabric over the head of his cock, _"Fuck."_

Dutch grips his hip tightly. 

"Strange?" John whispers. 

"A… A bit, perhaps," Dutch admits softly, "I… I know you've never looked at me like I'm _your_ father… Just an old man who's looked after you." 

"I didn't want another father," John says, a bit darkly, "I don't."

"I know," Dutch whispers, "And I'm not trying to be that, but I wanted you to know you wouldn't… That no one would hurt you, as a child, until you could make your own decisions, protect yourself."

"You still think I'm like that," John whispers shakily, "Don't you?"

"No… Not- I know you're grown," Dutch sighs quietly, "It's not like a switch is flipped or something so distinct." 

"You can't-" John's voice hitches and his hips twitch forward, "See me like _that_. Like I want."

"Maybe, no," Dutch says thickly and John turns his face into the older man's upper arm, "Not yet."

"I'm- I-" John gasps and whines quietly, pressing closer and grinding against his hand, "Gonna-" 

Dutch's hand shifts, just enough that his thumb can brush over the head of John's cock through the fabric and John bites back a moan, his hands surging forward to grip at Dutch's shirt as the older man's thumb keeps moving, just rubbing softly through the fabric as John comes. 

Spending himself in pulses and soaking the fabric over his cock. 

"Dutch- _Dutch_ -" John whispers shakily and feels Dutch's mouth press softly to his forehead. 

"Shh, I've got you," Dutch murmurs and turns his face to rest his cheek on the crown of John's head as the younger man tries to rein in his labored breathing. 

"Ah… Shit," John whispers and whimpers quietly and Dutch moves his hand away, wrapping his arm around John and pulling the younger man close to him. 

"I've got you, my boy," Dutch says gently and pulls his face back to lift John's chin, studying the younger man's ruddy cheeks. 

Until John's dark eyes open and meet his, embarrassed, ashamed, warm, and wanting. 

"Was that alright?" Dutch asks quietly, rubbing his thumb over John's chin and it's the same thumb that teased him through his orgasm and John can't bring up any words. 

So he nods. 

"You seem spooked," Dutch huffs softly, "Are you sure?" 

"Do you… Did you get anythin' from that?" John asks hoarsely. 

Dutch is quiet for a moment, brows lightly furrowed. 

"I think you and I are quite the same," Dutch murmurs, "In what we like." 

"What does that mean?" 

"I enjoyed it, but maybe not in the same way… I enjoyed you trusting me. I enjoyed watching you…" Dutch's brows furrow a bit more and his mouth quirks to the side in annoyance, "Though that just makes me sound like a dirty lech."

John huffs a small laugh and it breaks the annoyance on Dutch's face, the older man softening, fondness taking over as he watches John's amusement. 

"You should get cleaned up," Dutch says slowly, "Then…"

"Then?" 

"Do you think you'd be alright in your own tent, again?" Dutch asks as he lifts himself up, looking back over his shoulder at John, "You don't need to think these are nightmares anymore."

"Am I hearin' the offer or is it just wishful thinkin'?" 

Dutch shakes his head slowly and rubs at his face tiredly. 

"Clean up," Dutch says quietly, pointing at the washbowl in the corner. 

John slips off the cot and walks over to the small table, starting to unbutton his union suit from the top. 

And he can feel Dutch watching him, so maybe he slows down, carefully prying each button from it's place. 

Turning slightly, meeting Dutch's eyes as he pushes the fabric off his shoulders, lets it fall loose around his waist. 

Dutch looks at him for a moment then rubs at his temple lightly, tilting his head, the corner of his mouth ticking up in amusement. 

"Is it too early for a cigar?" Dutch runs his fingers through his hair and it falls loose into his face and John hardly gets to see the older man disheveled like this. 

"Think so." 

"Is it too early for a drink?" 

"Not if you pour some coffee in it." 

Dutch snorts and shakes his head, rising off the bed and coming around to stand in front of John, looking down at the younger man and lifting his hand to John's jaw, grazing his knuckles over the prickly scruff. 

"I'll go start that coffee, then."


	2. Chapter 2

John is drunk, but Dutch is a good few fingers into something sticky and sweet himself and well…

John’s not being particularly subtle, sitting at Dutch’s feet, leaning against the older man’s leg. 

Dutch is mostly able to laugh it off as some of the camp starts to retire, a few jeers aimed at John for not being able to hold his liquor. 

Then it’s just him, John, and Arthur at the fire. 

Arthur’s twice as sober as they are drunk and Dutch sees the curiosity in Arthur’s blue eyes, observing the way John’s cheek is pressed to Dutch’s outer thigh. 

“Dutch… You bein’ good to him?” Arthur asks slowly.

“‘M right here,” John mumbles softly and turns to look at Arthur. 

“I’m not askin’ you.”

“I’m not… Arthur, please don’t accuse me of somethin’ heinous,” Dutch begs hoarsely.

Arthur’s nose wrinkles lightly and he looks down at John who’s squinting up at him. 

“Yeah,” Arthur mutters, “Yeah, alright.”

And Arthur stands, hesitates, starts to walk away from the fire towards his tent. 

“G’night,” Arthur calls back and Dutch doesn’t respond. 

“Night,” John says softly but Arthur’s too far to hear it by now. 

“You oughta turn in too.”

John scoffs and turns on his knees, bullies his way between Dutch’s thighs and the older man just watches with wide eyes. 

“Son, c’mon, you’re too-”

“Don’t call me that,” John mutters and his hands reach for Dutch’s belt, tugging at the buckle until it lets loose and the weight of the holsters drops it the short distance to the ground behind Dutch. 

“John,” Dutch says thickly, “Hold on.”

“Please?” John whispers, “Waited so long for everyone to turn in.”

“... I didn’t realize you were- _Regardless_ , you’ve had too much to-”

“Don’t act like you don’t know I’d want this sober,” John whispers, “Ain’t that drunk.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you want _this_? What _do_ you want right now?”

“Wanna feel you fuckin’ my throat while everyone’s just close ‘nough they might hear me beggin’ for it,” John says, quick and sloppy, and tugs at Dutch’s pants, getting half the buttons free before Dutch’s mind can catch up and he grabs the younger man’s hands. 

“Jesus, John,” Dutch whispers but he’s getting hard, his body very much interested in this concept. 

“Please?” John whispers and switches tactics, pressing in close, not fighting Dutch but looking up at the older man pleadingly, pitiable. 

“I- I fucking taught you how to do that,” Dutch huffs, “Don’t use it against me.”

“S’it workin’?” John asks hoarsely and lets himself lean heavier into Dutch, his chest pressing into the older man’s crotch and he can feel Dutch’s cock through the fabric, not quite soft, “Yeah?”

“No.”

John makes a pathetic little noise of rejection and drops his face to rest his forehead on their tangled hands. 

“Get up,” Dutch whispers, “N’ go to your tent.”

“Thought you didn’t care,” John mutters darkly but struggles to his feet, swaying a bit. 

“John, you’re _drunk_ ,” Dutch says hoarsely, standing as well, “You know how much it’d hurt me if I found out you regretted doing anything with me when you sobered up?”

John doesn’t reply, takes a moment to process that. 

“I’m already not sure about this, John, please don’t push me,” Dutch whispers and drops one of John’s hands to cup the side of John’s head, threading his fingers through the messy strands, “Go to sleep.”

“Sorry,” John whispers. 

“I’m not mad, but I said I wouldn’t hurt you, I don’t want you hurting me neither.”

“I do want to,” John says thickly, “Everythin’ I said, wanted it sober too.”

“Then tell me that _when_ you’re sober.”

“... Fine,” John mumbles, leans into Dutch’s hand on his face for a moment then pulls back, “G’night.”

“Goodnight.”

\--

It's a bit startling, when Dutch wakes up and realizes he's not alone in his tent. 

John is curled up on the ground in the corner of the tent, still. 

"John?" Dutch asks, voice thick with sleep. 

He clears his throat and turns onto his side on the cot. 

"John?" Dutch repeats, little louder and watches John's eyes slowly open, completely coherent, "... Are you alright?"

John doesn't respond for a moment then shakes his head. 

"Can you tell me why?" Dutch asks cautiously but he has a sneaking suspicion that it has to do with what happened last night. 

"It was different," John whispers, "I couldn't sleep and I didn't wanna be alone."

Dutch sighs softly and rubs at his face roughly. 

"Come up here," Dutch mutters, "Shouldn't be sleeping on the bare ground."

John slowly unfolds himself and climbs to his feet, dusting himself off and shuffling closer. 

Dutch is the one who moves, this time, scooting back so there's enough room for John. 

The young man carefully climbs on and lies stiffly in front of Dutch. 

"You said you don't want me," John whispers, "The other night."

"A bit of a jump from what I said."

"You don't though, you would've already _had_ me, if you did."

"... It's not nearly that simple, my boy," Dutch murmurs and reaches out, combing John's messy hair back. 

"You were mad at me," John whispers, voice starting to tremble, "In the dream, real mad." 

"... Did I hurt you, in the dream?" 

John goes quiet again and slowly nods. 

Dutch sighs roughly and rubs his thumb over the tail of John's eyebrow, smoothing the dark hairs into place. 

"What'd I do?" 

"You didn't- I don't wanna-" 

"John, please, tell me, so I can reassure you of how wrong it was," Dutch whispers, "Please, you know I wouldn't hurt you, I don't-"

"You… You got fed up with me askin'... So-" John swallows and shifts, "You said you'd 'do me the favor', but you… You told me I had to stay quiet and not move so you could imagine I was someone worth fuckin'."

John's trembling subtly but Dutch can feel it through his hand on the younger man's face, stunned into silence. 

"... If that's what this ends up bein' I don't want it," John whispers thickly, "Just tell me to leave now." 

Dutch closes his eyes tightly for a moment and John just waits. 

"I don't…" Dutch whispers then cuts himself off with a rough, low sound of frustration and John tenses, "I _didn't_ want you."

"... Does that-?"

"I know you felt me last night," Dutch mutters, "The thought of you on your knees for me? Regardless of anyone around, begging for me to use you… John, I almost _let you."_

John lightly nudges his face into Dutch's palm. 

Dutch opens his eyes to look at the younger man and leans in, briefly pressing his lips to John's. 

It's a bit stiff and John moves his hands down to curl into Dutch's shirt, closing his eyes and tilting his head and trying to coax the older man into a deeper, sweeter kiss. 

Dutch's hand slides back from his face into his hair and grips into the strands of John's hair. 

John's lips part involuntarily and he makes a shaky noise, pressing closer and tentatively running the tip of his tongue over Dutch's lower lip. 

The older man rumbles a deep, hungry sound and tugs harder on John's hair, then forces the younger man's face closer, nipping at John's lip. 

John shifts and slowly slides his leg over the outside of Dutch's thigh, then pushes his weight into the older man until Dutch rolls onto his back and John ends up on top, straddling the older man. 

Dutch breaks the kiss and tugs him back by the hair, looking John up and down slowly. 

"What are you doing?" Dutch murmurs. 

John spreads his fingers over Dutch's chest and uses the leverage to line their hips up, not-quite meeting Dutch's eyes. 

Then grinding his hips forward, just an inch or so, stilling again, waiting. 

"This what you want?" Dutch asks quietly, "Surprised you're even in the mood."

"You were mean in that dream but you were still _you_ ," John says shakily, "And you can't ignore me like this." 

Dutch huffs softly, half amused and half upset by the whole idea. 

He drops his hands from John and crosses his arms behind his head. 

"Go on then, let me watch you." 

"... S'there anythin' I shouldn't do?" 

"Don't focus on me, alright?" Dutch murmurs and lowers his gaze to the bulge in John's trousers, "Just get yourself off." 

"You like watchin'... Don't you?" John mutters as he shifts and rolls his hips, his cock rubbing against Dutch's soft bulge through the fabric. 

"I do." 

John makes a small noise and squeezes his thighs around Dutch's hips. 

"Jesus," John whispers, "S'that why you liked the idea of me blowin' you out there?" 

"I can imagine how you'd look, if someone came back out, saw us," Dutch murmurs and it's a bit dark in tone, "How you'd flush and squirm and get all shy but if I told you to keep going… You would." 

John's fingers flex on Dutch's chest and he sits up a bit more, resting his hands on the firmness of Dutch's stomach. 

"Yeah," John says quietly. 

"Oh, that wasn't a question," Dutch laughs softly and tilts his hips in time with John's rocking so the younger man's hips are forced to rock further. 

John fidgets with the fabric in his hands and his hips twitch, aching for more friction. 

"Can I… Can I take myself out?" John whispers.

"Go 'head."

John sits up and quickly slips the buttons free on his trousers, shoving them out of the way and finding the closure on his waistband, yanking the fabric out of the way as well and whining low in his throat as he wraps a hand around himself. 

"Fuck," John whispers, stroking up his length and watching as pre-come beads from the slit, smearing it around with one fingertip. 

Just playing with his foreskin for a moment, getting the flushed head of his cock slippery with it.

"Hm. Such an eager lil' thing," Dutch murmurs, "... You ever taken a cock inside you?"

"Yeah," John says weakly, "Couple years back." 

Dutch makes a low noise and John's heart skips a beat when he feels the older man's cock twitch against his inner thigh. 

John tries to keep himself quiet as he strokes his length, twisting his hand lightly at the end and pushing the heel of his palm over the head of his cock. 

Until his whole length is shiny with pre-come and he's trying not to drip on Dutch's trousers. 

Dutch shifts under him and John can't stop the little whimper that leaves him, grinding down on Dutch's cock as his face flushes darkly. 

"There you go, my darling boy," Dutch whispers, "You'd look so sweet riding me here."

"Or out there," John says thickly, nodding towards the entrance of Dutch's tent. 

"Is that what you're thinking about?" Dutch huffs, "What a dirty boy." 

"... Fuck," John whispers and squeezing around his cock, shoulders curling over, "Dutch." 

"Yeah? It is, isn't it?" Dutch sits up and John falters only to gasp as he's turned around roughly, tugged back until he's pressed against Dutch's chest, "But I'd have you like this." 

"Wh-Why?" John's voice cracks and he can feel Dutch's cock fully now, hard through the trousers, pressed against his ass.

"So that everyone can see how beautifully you'd come on my cock," Dutch murmurs and his hands ghost up John's sides, "I bet you'd make quite the scene, all those desperate little noises with your pretty little member leaking all over." 

"Dutch," John whispers shakily, "Jesus, I'm already- I'm…" 

"Gonna come?" Dutch asks lowly, and tugs John's head to the side so he can watch the younger stroking himself, "For me, my boy? Would you like that, John, putting on a show?"

"Yeah- Yeah, shit, but everyone'd… I don't think they'd," John shudders and his hips jerk, "Pro'ly think it's gross."

"Mm, I disagree," Dutch whispers and moves his other hand to John's thigh, squeezing tightly, "Maybe at first, but look at you, they'd all be jealous of me, wouldn't they?" 

"What?" John asks hoarsely.

"I mean, anyone seeing just how responsive and needy you are, they'd want that for themselves. They'd want you," Dutch's hand moves and wraps around John's hand, stilling it, "But you're mine, aren't you?"

John lets out a breathy moan and rocks his hips into Dutch's hand, letting his own go limp as the older man starts to use John's hand to stroke the younger man's length. 

"Gonna…" John whispers and Dutch tugs at his hair, makes his back arch and his head tilt back. 

Then Dutch spreads his legs, forces John's to spread wider, stroking his cock over the sheets. 

"Dutch- Serious-" John gasps, "Gonna- Mess- Please-" 

And Dutch just hums softly, kissing the stretch of John's neck and tightening his grip as John squirms then stills, and Dutch uses the younger man's hand to squeeze at the base and stroke up with that pressure, only letting up around the head when a pulse of come streaks over the sheets. 

Repeating the movement as John whimpers and his legs flex on the outside of Dutch's, hips rocking as every last drop of come is milked out of him. 

Dutch keeps toying with him as John slumps back into the older man, making weak noises and twitching at the overstimulation. 

"Such a good boy," Dutch whispers and lays back with John. 

"Can feel you," John whispers, "You're hard."

"I am."

"Wanna watch you too."

"Hm," Dutch rubs his fingertip over the slit of John's cock and nudges the younger man until John's sitting next to him rather than on him. 

John watching, enraptured as Dutch undoes his slacks and drawers and pulls himself out. 

"Jesus," John whispers, "You felt big but…" 

Dutch huffs quietly, amused. 

"Give me your hand," Dutch says lowly.

John's fingers are still slick from his own come and he leans weakly on Dutch's shoulder as the older man guides his hand. 

Wrapping John's fingers around his cock and John instantly squeezes, barely able to touch his fingertips together. 

Dutch grunts softly at the pressure then nudges John's hand down to the base. 

"Can I do it?" John asks slowly, "I wanna… Somethin' 'bout you gettin' off 'cause of me..." 

Dutch lets out a shaky breath but nods. 

Pulls his hand away and lets John have full control. 

His head dropping back, then tilting, leaning his temple against the top of John's head. 

Chest rising sharply as John's fingertips rake through the thick, dark curls over his balls, then up to the tip and hesitating. 

He brings his hand to his mouth and spits into his palm, ignoring Dutch's quiet snort as he slicks his spit down Dutch's cock with a firm grip. 

"Mm," Dutch turns his face a little more and presses his lips to John's crown, "Shit."

"Good?" John whispers. 

Dutch's hand clenches in the sheets between their thighs, the older man humming a soft affirmative. 

John goes quiet, satisfied with just watching his own hand move up and down Dutch's length, trying the same tricks he likes on himself, playing with the head and varying his pressure and-

Dutch's hips start to lift into the touch. 

His arm wrapping around John's shoulders and squeezing as the older man starts to make these little, stunted sounds, fucking up into John's fist and John's ruined by the thought that Dutch could fuck _him_ like this. 

Quick, rough thrusts as the older man falls apart and can't quite hold back the breathy groan against John's hair that makes the younger man shiver, watching with rapt attention as Dutch's cock jerks in his grip and the older man comes in thick pulses, dripping over John's knuckles. 

"John," Dutch whispers, grits his teeth and his hips give one last thrust into John's fist before the older man starts softening, relaxing back into the pillows and John, leaning heavier against the younger man. 

"Holy shit," John says hoarsely and Dutch honest to God _chuckles_ , amused at the reaction, "That was…" 

"Mm, shh," Dutch murmurs and tugs John against him, John hesitating before slowly letting go of the older man's cock, "Perfect."

"What?" 

"You were perfect," Dutch says quietly and presses his lips harder to John's head, holding the younger man close. 

John wipes his hand off on the soiled sheets and gives in to the urge to return the embrace, wrapping his arms around Dutch's waist and turning more to face the older man and just enjoying being held for a moment. 

Even before… Whatever they are now, John never allowed himself this. 

He was peculiar as a child with all the bad memories aligned with being grabbed and hit, he wasn't fond of being touched, only barely tolerated it from Hosea or Dutch or Arthur or Grimshaw. 

Then he grew up and the offers of physical comfort became fewer and farther between and there was some notion in him that he shouldn't need them. 

It hits him hard how much he's been starved for it, staring past Dutch's chest and getting used to the feeling of Dutch's breathing moving his arm, and how he's warmer where they're touching, how if he focuses he can hear Dutch's heartbeat through the older man's skin. 

John rubs his cheek over the top of Dutch's chest lightly before hugging tighter and hiding his face against Dutch. 

Dutch's hand moves up and pets over the back of John's head, playing with and detangling the younger man's hair. 

"Are you alright?" Dutch whispers and John hears the concern clear in the older man's voice, "Was that too much?"

"No… I'm happy," John admits, voice thick and wet.

"... Were you not before?"

"I… I was, I guess, just-" John closes his eyes as tight as he can and squeezes Dutch briefly, "Really feel _good_ , right now."

Dutch is quiet as his fingertips move down John's spine, drawing senseless patterns and John can feel himself getting sleepy, leaning heavier against the older man. 

"I'm glad," Dutch says after a few minutes of silence, "I wouldn't want you to feel any other way, if it were up to me, but I know that's not always the case."

"Y'know when you… You feel like you made the right choice and it pays off and you're all relieved and… You feel safe?" 

"Is that how you feel right now?" Dutch asks hoarsely, "With _me_?"

John nods slowly against Dutch's chest and the older man lets out a deep exhale. 

Then squeezes the back of John's nape and kisses the younger man's crown and holds John with a strong arm around the younger man's back. 

\--

Not all that much changes and John's glad for it. 

Arthur stills ribs him for fucking up, Hosea still beats him at dominoes without fail, and Dutch still cares about him in a quiet, steady way. 

He doesn't favor John or pull him from jobs and John likes it this way. 

Arthur knows, or at least John thinks Arthur knows by the way he watches them sometimes, a bit critically. 

Curiously. 

He's never asked Arthur if he ever felt the same way about Dutch. 

Like their leader in himself was their home and their reason for going on, being alive in the first place. 

But John's not sure he could ask that aloud without Arthur laughing at him for how sappy it sounds. 

\--

It's only different when they're alone. 

\--

When they move camp Dutch separates them out into groups to tackle errands. 

He sends Hosea and Arthur hunting, Bill and Pearson to grab supplies from town, Javier is assigned watch (and to fish, if he is so inclined), some of the ladies to help get their tents and belongings into order-

And himself and John to go one town over for a couple days to scope the place and the surrounding area.

John packs his saddle bags and tacks up both their horses before waiting, watching as Dutch is quietly talking with Hosea. 

Then Dutch claps Hosea's shoulder and heads towards the horses, smiling softly when he notices John. 

"Thank you, John," Dutch says and squeezes John's upper arm before gesturing to their horses, "Ready?"

\--

"Why'd you pick me?" John asks quietly as they're nearing the closer town. 

"Hm? To come with me?" Dutch turns his head to look back at him curiously, "You're just as capable as anyone else, besides…"

John stares at him as Dutch's voice goes lower, secretive. 

"If I'm honest, I'd prefer your company."

John keeps staring then slowly ducks his head as he feels heat creeping up his cheeks. 

Dutch laughs softly and John realizes he’s been _teased_. 

\--

John follows Dutch through the town at a leisurely pace, as they dip into various shops and Dutch lays on his thickest charm for the locals. 

They’re merely a couple of artists passing through the Western country, looking for new muses. 

John successfully holds in his snort of laughter and excuses himself to look over the store’s inventory. 

He slyly pockets a few things, because the shopkeep is otherwise engaged and he can. 

Swinging back around and setting only a small tin of salve on the counter and pulling out the change to purchase it. 

Dutch eyes it curiously but doesn’t say anything as he makes their goodbyes and they exit the building, heading back up the dirt roads to where their horses are tacked. 

John pulls a couple of hard candies out of his inner jacket pocket and shoves them into Dutch’s hand just because he knows the older man likes them. 

And they were temptingly displayed in a crystal bowl, a couple pennies a piece but it was child’s play to take them. 

Dutch huffs quietly and claps his shoulder. 

“What a lil’ thief you are,” Dutch murmurs but he’s grinning and it warms through John. 

“Learned from the best,” John mumbles and it gets Dutch to bark another laugh, squeeze him close then shove him towards his horse.

\--

Rather than staying in the hotel they branch off between the two towns and make camp in a small, stream-side clearing. 

And Dutch is watching him, more closely than normal. 

Passing his flask over and John nods his thanks, takes a small sip. 

“Are you expecting something to happen tonight?” 

John slowly lowers the flask, brows furrowing as he turns to look at Dutch more fully. 

“What?”

“Of all the things you pocketed in that store, why did you pay for _that_ where I could see?”

John just blinks at him, then looks down at himself, pulling the tin out of one pocket and gesturing with it as he hands the flask back over. 

Then he turns his hand so Dutch can see the split in his palm just below his pinky finger. 

“Holding the reins was irritatin’ it,” John says quietly, “Saw _this_ but no gloves.”

Dutch reaches over and wraps his fingers around John’s wrist, scooting closer and setting down the flask, tutting softly. 

“Give,” Dutch says, gesturing to the tin and John hands it over. 

Watching as the older man thumbs open the lid and sets it on his thigh to dig his fingers into the gel. 

John tenses just a bit when Dutch smears the salve over the crack in his skin. 

“I could do that,” John whispers hoarsely. 

“Would you like me to stop?”

“… No.”

“Hm,” Dutch sets the tin down and pulls John’s hand into his lap, cradling it with both of his own and rubbing his thumbs between the joints of John’s hand, “How’d this happen?”

“Burnt it a couple days back and it’s just… Not healin’ well.”  
  
“Do you need new gloves?”

“… Maybe.”

“And what happened to your last pair?”

“… Lost ‘em,” John mumbles and shies a bit. 

Dutch just mutters under his breath and carefully continues rubbing the younger man’s hand until the salve has absorbed and John’s leaning back on the log behind them, looking up at him with dark eyes. 

Dutch squeezes John’s hand softly, then coaxes the younger’s fingers into closing. 

“You should rest.”

John groans a soft protest but he’s obviously tired. 

Dutch shakes his head in fond amusement and nods towards their tent. 

“Go.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://providentialeyes.tumblr.com)   
>  [my twitter](https://www.twitter.com/gwennolmarie)   
>  [horny twitter](https://www.twitter.com/swampslip)


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